Saving Ants
by super ultra gorgeous
Summary: Bromance. Virgil and Richie prematurely consider what it means to be a superhero.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Static Shock and do not plan on receiving a profit for this work.

**Note:** The Virgil/Richie is really only there if you squint (or maybe if you recognize and analyze my song choice), which was fully intentional. I feel that they're too young for it to really apply, but I also wrote it squinting.

All right, the story behind this.

I'm going to guess that most Static fans are familiar with "Through A Glass, Darkly"; it is easily the most popular fic within the entire fandom, and also happens to be the single most addictive piece of literature I've ever had the joy of discovering. So instead of waiting around to see if it'll ever be updated again, I've been toying with the idea of writing my own ending to it, if only for the sake of personal closure.

Basically, what happened was I started playing around within the fic's canon and ended up with this. If it amuses you to know, the original incarnation of this was nestled as a flashback in between scenes of not-Static taking advantage of Richie, and then Richie telling him to fuck off. So that's fun. (Am I destined to always kill my own writing-libido with kiddie bro-fic? Stay tuned to—okay the answer is yes)

… Fic of a fic, man. Crazy.

Anyway, I can pretty much guarantee that I'd never be able to follow through with that idea, so, uh. Don't ask to read it. However, what I mean to say is that, if possible, **it would be good to keep the original and AU versions of Virgil from "Through A Glass, Darkly" in mind while reading this; it'll add a little something extra to Virgil's words and actions here. **But if you haven't read it, it should still work within the context of just the show.

Okay, I've wasted 320 words on just the intro, time to shut up. Enjoy! Or don't. … Or do.

Even from fifty meters away, Richie could hear hints of Virgil's agitated voice floating across the mostly-vacant back parking lot, far from the hustle and bustle of the school bus rush taking place out front. A sharp obscenity rang out across the distance, bitter and completely unsuited to Virgil's innocent tongue. Richie winced.

Immediately after class had let out, Richie had spotted Virgil rampaging toward one of the more remote, wooded borders of the school grounds. Once he'd caught up to a reasonable distance, he cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, "Yo, V!" Virgil's shoulders twitched in recognition, and he stopped until Richie caught up, panting a little.

"Hey. What's up, bro? I saw you in the halls after sixth period looking like you were ready to kill someone, but I didn't get the chance to talk…" Seeing the look on Virgil's face up-close and personal like this, Richie shut his mouth and immediately regretted asking.

There weren't many things that could make his friend's eyes turn that dark.

Virgil looked down at his shoelaces. "Stupid Francis," he grumbled. "Stupid—stupid!" He stormed the rest of the way toward a small cluster of trees, kicking up dust and small pebbles from the cracked, dry soil. Richie watched him warily from the pavement's edge.

When he reached his apparent destination, Virgil whirled around to face Richie, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the bottom of his fleece jacket. "F-Stop was joking around about joining the—the gang that—You know what, I hope he really does join it and that he dies in a knife fight, 'cause he'd sure as hell deserve it more than any of the other people that get hurt during these stupid _fuckin'_ gang wars!" The curses were apparently not satisfying enough this time, so he kicked a nearby rock for good measure before dropping to the foot of a large oak, head in hands. Richie ambled over in his wake and settled down next to him, careful to avoid stepping on an anthill.

They sat in silence for a time, during which Richie could practically feel the barely-contained anger radiating from Virgil's pores. In an effort to ease the tension, he spoke up.

"V."

Virgil grunted.

Richie hesitated, tracing the lines on some of the exposed roots of the tree they were leaning against. He chose his words cautiously and deliberately. "I know we've never really talked about it, but… Virgil, I'm sorry about your mom."

That was evidently the wrong thing to say. Virgil's huddled form seemed to quiver for a moment, until it exploded into fervent gesticulation and bitter yelling. "Why would you be sorry? Why does everyone say that? I'm so sick of other people saying that they're sorry!" Virgil raised his fist to squash the anthill between their feet, but Richie grabbed his wrist before he could. He frowned when Virgil wrenched his hand away.

"Jeez, Virg, I'm just trying to—look, I would have mentioned it before, but you always get so freakin' moody and aggressive around me when other people bring it up." Riche sighed and rubbed his face. This was so exasperating. "Did you ever consider that maybe they'd stop talking about it if you let 'em know how much it bothered you?"

Virgil rolled his eyes and said, "Hey, that's a great idea, Rich. Getting in a fight with F-Stop and a call home from 'concerned teachers' within my first month at middle school? Two birds with one stone!" He made a mocking pair of jazz hands, then let them fall, scowling. "I mean, what's the point of bringing it up? Besides, this is Francis we're talking about. He stuffs my head down the toilet when I so much as look at him funny.So _stupid_!" He dug the heels of his sneakers deep into the dirt, probably pretending it was F-stop's face. Then he looked sideways at Richie, watching for his reaction.

Richie blinked. "Are you done whining?"

Virgil opened his mouth again, no doubt in preparation for an indignant spiel, but he waved it off. "I get it, he makes you mad. But you can quit shouting at _me_," Richie said tiredly. "Dude, why do you always take it out on me and never anyone else? I know it's only been seven months, but it's like you're not even trying to deal with it. You haven't even bothered to talk this out with your best friend, for cryin' out loud!" Richie looked away, stubbornly refusing to let the prickling pressure at the back of his eyes grow. Sixth-graders didn't cry. "We _are_ best friends, right?"

Virgil's rage had begun to slip and give way to guilt. "No, Richie, of course we're—that's not what I…" He slumped against the tree. "I didn't talk about it with you 'cause I don't want you to feel sorry for me, too. Nobody else gets it."

Virgil paused, hunching up and wrapping his arms around his knees. "It's like… yeah, people missed her for about a week, and then they moved on. These days they just give me those googly eyes and pretend to understand, to be sorry, when they just don't care. Nobody cares! That's what makes me so—!" Words failing to adequately express his frustration, he hunched up over his knees and started ripping out some of the sparse, prickly chunks of dead grass; but when he noticed that Richie was still refusing to look at him, he wilted.

"Look, I'm _sorry_. You've done more than anyone else this entire time just by being there and letting me work off steam. You're just… You're my only friend, Rich." His voice was thick and miserable. Now it was his turn to turn the other way, flipping his springy dreads to cover the left side of his face.

"… Liar," said Richie at length, leaning into his friend gently. "You've always hung out with a ton of other kids at the center, bro."

"Whatever," Virgil muttered. "I mean real friends. You're the only person there who matters."

Richie crossed his arms, flattered but skeptical. "Yeah? What about your dad?"

At this, Virgil was silent.

The paler boy shrugged and looked up at the sky above them, blue and clear as the sea, but interrupted by lightning-shaped branches and their warm fall foliage.

'_And if I was a tree growing tall and green, all I'd want is you to shade me and be my leaves.'_

A surprisingly crisp breeze came by and he shivered. Song lyrics—some folk-sounding ditty from an old tape his mom liked to play in the car sometimes. They had sprung up completely unbidden, but… Richie wrapped his arms around his stomach, trying to get warm again.

After a while, he got bored of sitting in contemplative quiet and elbowed the other boy in the ribs. Virgil whipped around. "Ow! What?"

Richie put his hands in the air defensively. "Hey, just a reminder. I asked you a question, bro."

"And I was thinkin' about it! Look, Rich, this is just… it's hard for me to put into…." He sighed and mussed up his dreads, staring at the ground. After a moment, he huffed out a soft little half-laugh.

"Sometimes, lately, when we're comin' home from the center together real late at night, Pops calls me his little superhero."

Richie asked why, and Virgil rolled his eyes. "Beats me. Maybe he thinks I read enough about them that I'm starting to magically turn into one. Says that about cheeseburgers too."

Then he looked down at the anthill between both of their shoes, sandy and blank. "But… well, he lost mom, too. He was even sadder than me after she was gone—things were lookin' pretty bad for him for a few weeks there, he didn't even know if the center was gonna make it if this grant didn't go through and he was real depressed and he was startin' to drink and—" Virgil swallowed. "But, but the grant went through. Once he went back to the center, he picked himself back up, and he still smiled. And he did that for me 'n Sharon, and for the kids at the center, and I think for mom too, maybe."

Virgil stopped talking for a minute to open up his lunch bag, tear a piece of bread crust from his still-uneaten sandwich, and flick it over to the hill. Within seconds, his food was swarmed and marched away by grateful ants. The lone mound was spotted with tiny, wriggling black bodies. Virgil watched them for a while with an inscrutable expression, then turned to Richie.

"If I'm his little superhero now, maybe that means I'll be a big hero like him someday. Like both of them. Mom was so..." He trailed off.

Richie swung around to face the other boy completely. "V."

"Y-yeah?" As the sad, faraway look in his eyes faded, and Virgil began to look vaguely uncomfortable and vulnerable, Richie pulled him into an awkwardly-angled hug. After he unfroze, Virgil shifted a little to make the embrace more comfortable and slowly returned it. When Richie spoke, he squeezed.

"I'll always be here, V. And when we grow up, we'll be superheroes for each other, 'cause that's what best friends do. Got that?" Richie felt a slight nod against his shoulder. He pulled away, looking sheepish at his unexpected display of affection.

Virgil tilted his head, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a soft, lopsided smile.

"Love you, Rich."


End file.
